


Going to Stay Now, Really Like it Here

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beard Burn, Biting, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Taron Egerton, Richard decided long ago, has an arse that’s made to be lavished with attention.





	Going to Stay Now, Really Like it Here

**Author's Note:**

> Pip and I have basically been REAL hung up on two things lately: Taron's ass and the concept of beard burn. This fic is the product of those obsessions, bc Pip is a dirty enabler and I can't _not_ write the shit we talk about.
> 
> Big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing, as always! And big thanks to all the lovely people in the Madderton fandom, y'all are so fucking nice!
> 
> Enjoy!

Taron Egerton, Richard decided long ago, has an arse that’s made to be lavished with attention.

Richard tilts his head consideringly now, watching his cock sink into Taron’s perfectly tight arsehole, and thinks about all the things he loves to do to that very hole. Fucking it, tasting it, fingering it until Taron is screaming for _more more more_. Screaming like he is right now, wailing and whining and grinding back against Richard. Richard moves at a leisurely pace, both because he loves watching Taron deteriorate into a needy wreck and because he doesn’t want to come quite yet.

 _Should’ve fingered him longer_ , Richard thinks, a bit dismayed. He thumbs at the red rim of Taron’s hole, where he’s tight around Richard’s cock like a greedy vice. _Should’ve made him beg_.

Not to say nothing for Taron’s begging now, of course. It’s lovely. Richard’s rather fond of anything that trips from the other man’s mouth, even the stupid things.

Richard leans slowly until he can plaster his chest to Taron’s back and mouth along the sweaty skin of his shoulders. “I should’ve fingered ye longer, love.”

“If you had, I’d’ve gone mental,” Taron tells him seriously. “You’ve been gone two bloody weeks and I have missed you _so_ fucking much.” Taron punctuates his words with rough shoves back, trying to get Richard’s cock as deep inside as it’ll go.

“You’re saying you only missed me for my cock, then?” Richard slows his hips until he’s no longer thrusting. Taron wriggles pitifully around underneath him, searching for friction he only barely finds. “Not my mouth?” Richard lets his lips graze Taron’s ear. “Or my fingers?” He digs them hard enough into Taron’s hips to leave faint bruises. “Just this?” With that, he thrusts forward once, punching a moan from Taron’s kiss-bitten lips.

“I missed all of you, you wanker, you know that!” Taron trembles in his arms.

“Then let me taste you, love. Finger you open until you’re sopping wet. _Then_ I’ll fuck you.” Richard dances his fingertips to the base of Taron’s dick. “Please?”

Taron groans, a loud and throaty thing the neighbors will complain about later, and Richard knows he’s won.

A bit reluctantly—because there’s nothing quite like the tight, slick heat of Taron’s arse—Richard slips away. He helps Taron onto his back and smiles down at him, fully aware of how besotted he looks. It has the desired effect of bringing Taron’s blush back full force, along with Taron giving him a playful shove and telling him to, “Sod off.”

“Not likely,” he replies as he slinks down Taron’s body. He presses wet smacking kisses along Taron’s chest and stomach; he nips at the slight hint of extra weight hanging about Taron’s hips, the skin oh so soft and sensitive. He goes lower still, ghosting his lips along the silky heat of Taron’s prick, pausing just long enough to lap at the leaking slit, before moving further. “Lube?”

Taron chucks it gently at his head and Richard buries his laugh against the tender skin of Taron’s thigh.

“You should’a fucking shaved,” Taron moans when Richard drags his cheek over Taron’s reddening skin. “Gonna give me beard burn again, arsehole.”

“You adore it.” Richard shoots him what can best be classified as a smarmy grin before taking one of Taron’s bollocks into his mouth. It’s all salt and sweat, the simple taste of skin and the tang of soap from their shower together earlier. It’s a taste Richard’s very familiar with, and one he’s yet to tire of. He spares a glance up and watches Taron’s head slam back against the pillows.

Richard doesn’t allow himself a smirk; he simply switches and takes Taron’s other bollock in his mouth and hums pleasantly around the heavy skin.

“You, _fuck_ , fucking bastard,” Taron gasps. His legs are quivering on either side of Richard with the effort not to snap shut and trap him there. Richard rubs a soothing hand low on Taron’s stomach. The gesture is familiar, Richard’s way of saying _“you’re doing so good”_ without speaking, and Taron melts under it.

Richard sucks at Taron’s sac until there’s spit everywhere and it’s absolutely filthy. They’re going to need another shower after this, and Richard wonders how many times he can make Taron come under the lukewarm hotel shower spray.

“Get on with it _please_ ,” Taron wails. He’s thrown a hand over his eyes and his hips are jumping, minutely but enough to have his cock bobbing enticingly.

Richard doesn’t give into the temptation. He slips off the bed and onto his knees and hauls Taron’s thighs up around his ears. Taron barely gets out a yelp of surprise before Richard is licking into him. He’s already soft and open here so Richard wastes no time mucking about. He spears his tongue inside and ignores the less than enjoyable taste of lube on his tongue and listens to Taron swear like he’s just stubbed his toe something fierce.

Richard loses himself in the jaw-aching sensation of eating his lover out. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, mind, but with Taron...Well, as stated: Taron has an arse that’s just simply _made_ for these kinds of things. Perfectly round and tight; it fits in Richard’s hands just right. The often-seen urge to squeeze the globes of Taron’s arse regardless of where they are is one not usually denied. Taron swears he hates it, but he’s always randy later on, so Richard’s confident he’s lying.

“Fuck,” Taron whimpers. His thighs shake on either side of Richard’s head. “Fingers, please? Need more.”

Richard just buries his tongue as deep as he can go and ignores the ache in his jaw. He sucks at Taron’s hole as he draws back and plants a smacking kiss right against the furled muscle. He’s quick about slicking up two fingers again. “Ready?”

“Been ready, you fucking—?” Taron’s half-moaned insult is lost in a breathless gasp of air as Richard shoves two fingers in down to the last knuckle. It’s nothing Taron can’t handle but the abrupt shift of being filled has left the younger man delightfully speechless.

Richard turns his head and digs his teeth into the meaty part of Taron’s thigh and the pleasure-pain drags him from his reverie. Taron gasps again, this time like he’s coming up for air, and he tightens around the two fingers inside him.

“Happy now? You’ve had a taste, so fuck me proper.”

“Not yet,” Richard says against the deep red mark he’s sucked into Taron’s thigh. He leans to the other thigh and gives it a similar treatment. And if, perhaps, he makes sure to drag his stubbled cheek and chin across Taron’s skin, well…

“I hate you,” Taron insists in a voice that’s hoarse and rasping. “So fucking much.”

“No, ye don’.” Richard smiles against the crease of Taron’s hip and drags his tongue through the sweat gathering in the divot. With his free hand he adds more lube to his fingers, including slicking up a third, and doesn’t tell Taron when two fingers become three, still shoved in hard and fast.

“Richard!” Taron whines. His hands are knotted and flexing in the bedsheets. “Fuck, _please_ , mate, just fuck me already.” He’s slurring like he’s drunk and Richard feels a rush of power followed quickly by affection.

“You can come from just my fingers, love. I know ye can.” To make his point, he crooks them _just so_ and Taron lets out another wall shaking moan. One hand comes up to slap ineffectually at the headboard and the other seems ready to tear through the sheets if it’ll give him any sort of relief. “That’s it, just a little more. Come for me like the good boy I know you are and then I’ll fuck your perfect arse.”

Taron hiccups and gives a full body shudder. His thighs tense and close in around Richard’s head, trapping him there. He scrubs his cheek against a not-quite-red-enough patch of skin and crooks his fingers again and laps at the indents his teeth left in the fleshy part of Taron’s thigh.

His gaze flicks up just in time to watch Taron’s cock pulse, untouched, come shooting up across his stomach and chest. Richard works him through the aftershocks until the telltale sounds edge into the wrong side of too much.

Richard climbs back onto the bed and plasters himself once more against Taron’s body. “You with me, T?”

“Please,” Taron says, voice quiet. “Will you fuck me now?” He opens one eye, then the next, startling and perfect blue staring intently at him. “Want you to come inside me,” Taron admits in a voice that Richard is confident he’s the only one to have ever heard.

“Of course,” Richard says and now he’s the one shaking. His own delayed arousal is catching up with him and just touching his cock to slick it up is almost enough to send him over a quick edge. He situates himself between Taron’s spread legs and admires the debauched picture:

Taron’s hair askew, entire body flushed like he’s got a hair too much sun, cock already filling up again and his _thighs_. His thighs are a delightful mish-mash of deep purple-red, shadowed with indents from Richard’s teeth—and then the softer, rashy sort of red, the kind that stings pleasantly now but will hurt like a bitch tomorrow.

Richard presses one hand to Taron’s hip and the other against his thigh, palm right against the flaming skin, and presses back into Taron’s body one slow inch at a time.

 _Never tire of this_ , he thinks as he watches his cock sink in yet again. It’s smoother this time, which is saying something when it was already smooth before. He thrusts leisurely again but Taron’s not hurrying him, just watching him with lidded eyes. He still looks blissed out from his own orgasm, and Richard grips Taron’s cock without a further thought.

“Fuck, Richard!” Taron’s hands latch onto Richard’s shoulders. “Too soon,” he swears, but he’s already fucking up into the lubed circle of Richard’s fist.

 _So predictable,_ he thinks but doesn’t say. He bends forward to kiss Taron and work him up to another orgasm, this one quick and rushed and whining. Taron’s eyes squeeze shut as another feeble bit of come spurts from his cock, adding to the drying mess between their stomachs.

Taron reaches around and his nails bite at the small of Richard’s back. “C’mon, you close?”

Richard nods. He turns his head and noses at Taron’s cheek, his jaw, down to his neck where it’s too tempting to resist. He seals his teeth around the juncture where neck meets shoulder as he finally thrusts harder, deeper, though still slower, into Taron.

“That’s it,” Taron urges, voice rising in pitch and shaking like Richard’s rending him apart. “That’s it, love, come on.” He rakes his nails down Richard’s back and arches his back, grinding his ambitious cock against Richard’s chest hair. “I’m close,” Taron says against Richard’s lips and that’s it, then.

Richard groans and slams forward a last time, body jerking like he’s been touched by a livewire; he comes deep inside Taron, hips rutting forward with insistence to fuck his come deeper, keep it there. When Richard has the strength to look up, Taron’s head is thrown back again and his hand is working furiously over his cock, and he’s so close, Richard can almost taste Taron’s third orgasm in the air.

The thought has another final spurt of come spilling into Taron and that apparently does the trick. This time it’s dry when Taron comes and he’s wincing and hissing at the sensitivity quicker than before. He doesn’t complain when Richard practically collapses on top of him.

“We’re a mess,” Taron complains. “That shower was for nothing.”

Richard thinks back to fingering Taron open the shower. “Not quite for nothing, I think.”

Taron rolls his eyes. “Too tired to shower again.”

“We’ll do it in the morning.” Richard reaches over him to where his phone sits on the bedside table. He sets his alarm for a wee bit earlier, to give them enough time before the interview to shower thoroughly and set themselves right.

“Hate you. Fucking me sore _and_ making me get up early.” Taron huffs and smiles at Richard. “Prick.”

“Arsehole,” Richard replies fondly before kissing him.

 

 

Taron inhales sharply when they sit down to breakfast the next morning with Dex and Bryce. He does it again as they slide into the sleek car taking them to the studio for their interview. He’s fine on the brief tour of the studio and he’s fine as they slip into the room where someone’s already waiting for them. But as he and Richard sit, Taron winces again, inhaling like he’s choking on it.

Richard shoots him a concerned look, something not unnoticed by the person meant to be interviewing them.

“Let me grab you guys some waters, alright?” She says, even though there are three waters on the small coffee table in front of them. She makes a relatively graceful exit, Richard supposes, and he can’t say he’s not grateful for the privacy.

He turns to Taron, ready to ask what’s wrong, but his lover beats him to the punch.

“Next time you’re going to make a fucking mess of my arse and thighs, you’re going to spend just as long putting _lotion_ on them!” Taron squirms in his chair, glaring at Richard all the while. When Richard doesn’t immediately reply, Taron leans in and hisses, _“Beard burn.”_

Richard had noted during their shower that morning that Taron’s lower half was a bit flushed; and, of course, he noticed the slight winces and sharp inhales. He knew all along this would be a problem, and Taron’s clearly only just now figuring that out.

Taron groans. He tips his head back and mouths something at the ceiling, Richard doesn’t catch what. “You owe me.”

“Of course,” Richard replies swiftly. “Lotion. And a nice dinner, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Taron’s back to blushing, as always delighted by the idea of a date. He’s so easy to read, and Richard adores that openness about him. He leans in and sneaks an entirely smitten kiss before the interviewer returns.

“Sorry about that lads,” she says, sitting down again. She did in fact bring them water bottles, so now there’s five on the table instead of three. “Shall we get started?”

Richard tries—and fails—not to preen during the interview every single time Taron so much as shifts in his seat.

Later, that particular journal will include a lovely little note in their spread about him and Taron and the rest of the crew. If Richard happens to save that clipping like some crazed old lady from down the road, well. That’s his business. (And if Taron finds the clipping later and ribs him terribly for it, well, that’s _their_ business.)

(Richard did always think Taron’s arse was made for spanking, too.)

 

 

_Newly coupled Taron Egerton and Richard Madden just can’t seem to keep their eyes off each other, even when they’re right next to each other! Get yourself someone who looks at you the way Richard looks at Taron!_

**Author's Note:**

> The working title of this fic was **ass ass ass ass ass.doc**


End file.
